


In Which International Superspy Cesaro Saves the Day

by Moonsault, orphan_account



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, Identity Issues, M/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsault/pseuds/Moonsault, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Sami Zayn (who is definitely not the debonair-but-deadly agent El Generico) is captured by the international villain Kevin Owens (who seems to be the only person who agrees Sami is not El Generico).</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which International Superspy Cesaro Saves the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Here's where AO3's tagging conventions for wrestling fail me, for while this is definitely Kevin Owens/El Generico, and does have overtones of Sami Zayn/Cesaro (though let's be real, in superspy land it's Cesaro/Everyone), it is most definitely not a love triangle, _because Sami and El Generico are different people, obviously._

"Oh no!" The mook's gun trembled in his hand. "It's the suave and debonair yet deadly secret agent El Generico! We don't stand a chance against him!"

Sami Zayn sighed. This happened all the time. "No, I'm just regular old Agent Zayn, not--" He broke off and reconsidered. "Uh, si," he said instead. "Soy...estas...um...El Generico."

"Oh my God!" gasped Left Mook. "It really is him!"

It looked for a moment that things were going to be okay, but suddenly a bulky form loomed out of the swirling mist, and Sami groaned to recognize Kevin Owens, also known as "L'Ours Meurtrier," criminal mastermind. Kevin slapped the back of Right Mook's head. "For fuck's sake," he screamed, "That is _not_ El Generico, you moron! Why am I the _only_ person who can see this?"

"I dunno, sir," stammered Left Mook. "If it is him...didn't you try to kill El Generico and fail?"

Kevin grabbed the gun from him. "All right, Nick," he snarled, "How about I just kill you instead?"

The two thugs ran off as Kevin fired wild shots into the mist at them. Kevin sighed and turned back to Sami. "Where were we? Oh, right--we were discussing how you are _not_ the skilled, talented, and brave El Generico."

"Do you expect me to talk?" said Sami, lifting his chin in defiance.

Kevin smiled unpleasantly. "You've always been so bad at that. No, Mr. Zayn, I expect you to die."

* * *

And so Sami Zayn found himself strapped to a table, staring up at a skylight and wondering how he had gotten into this mess.

“Wow,” said a random underling to a gloating Kevin Owens, “I can’t believe you captured El Generico!”

Kevin tore his hair. “ _That’s it! Everyone out!_ ” He flung his arms around frantically until the room cleared out, then went to a side door. “Nick! Matt! Get in here!”

The two thugs from earlier came through the door. They seemed unfazed that Kevin had tried to kill them just a few hours ago. Sami suspected that happened on a fairly regular basis.

“Okay,” said Kevin to them, “At least you two were there when--”

 _”Boss!”_ said Nick, his jaw dropping. “You captured El Generico?”

“Arrrggghgghh!” Kevin stomped his feet for a while. _“You idiots!_ He doesn’t even _look_ like El Generico! Look--for fuck’s sake, look!”

He rummaged in his pocket and produced--Sami blinked--a photograph of the face of a grinning El Generico. Dragging Nick and Matt over to where Sami lay trapped, he held the picture up next to Sami’s face. “Totally different people!” he screamed.

Nick and Matt looked confused.

 _“Look!”_ Kevin grabbed Matt by the fringe on his jacket and hauled him closer. “Look at Zayn’s squinty, dull, unintelligent eyes.” He brandished the photograph. “Now _look_ at the eyes behind the mask. How they gleam with cunning, with intensity, with rapier wit. These are the eyes of a worthy opponent. _That_ is _nobody._ ”

“I’ve been saying that all along,” said Sami.

 _“Shut up,_ ” snarled Kevin. He turned back to his thugs. “Look at Zayn’s stupid, scraggly, unmasculine beard. The beard of a loser!” He held up the photo with a shaking hand. “How can it possibly compare to the luxurious, manly beard of El Generico? That’s a beard that makes you want to sink your fingers into it, to caress the strong jaw that lies beneath it…”

He sighed and seemed to lose his train of thought, gazing at the picture. Sami raised an eyebrow at the two thugs, who shrugged uncomfortably.

“Uh, boss?” said Nick.

Kevin snapped back into the moment. “Right! Now, check out Zayn’s insipid, weak, ugly mouth! God! It makes me sick just to look at it! It’s nothing like El Generico’s mouth, which--”

By this point everyone was pretty relieved when Cesaro finally burst through the skylight.

* * *

Cesaro finished unshackling Sami. His fight with Owens and the two thugs hadn’t even creased his bespoke Italian suit or rumpled the scarlet square of silk tucked into the breast pocket. “Are you okay?” he asked as Sami sat up, rubbing his arms and glaring at Kevin, who was sitting cuffed in a corner, flanked by his two henchmen.

“Oh my God!” Thug Matt clapped his hands together in delight--at least as well as he could while handcuffed. “International superspy Cesaro just saved El Generico!”

Kevin sounded like he was going to swallow his tongue. He strained against his own handcuffs--more to try and slap Matt than lunge at Cesaro and Sami. _”He is not El Generico!”_

“Ah yes,” said Cesaro urbanely. “You’re not El Generico at all, right, ‘Sami’?”

“I’m really not,” Sami said.

“Indeed. Just like I’m totally not Claudio Castagnoli,” said Cesaro, waggling his eyebrows. 

“No, that’s--Cesaro is your _code name,”_ said Sami. “El Generico is a totally different person from me. I’m...not him at all.”

“Say no more,” Cesaro said, winking and nudging him.

“I’m really not!” Sami repeated. He looked over at Kevin. “I’m not.”

“Thank God,” sobbed Kevin, looking like he wished he could hug Sami. “At least _someone_ agrees with me. Even if it’s only you.”

Cesaro produced a grapple gun, pointed it upward, and shot a grapple through the shattered glass ceiling without looking. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses, then scooped Sami into a bride’s carry. “Ready to head back to headquarters, Generi--” He broke off and smirked. “I mean, Sami?”

Kevin’s howls of fury followed them as they soared upward and into the Montreal night.


End file.
